


Not in Blood but in Bond (OT4)

by ohnvm



Category: Social Network (2010)
Genre: Bromance, Gen, IDK BRO, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-11
Updated: 2011-12-11
Packaged: 2017-10-27 05:36:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohnvm/pseuds/ohnvm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I need you.</p><p>I'm here for you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not in Blood but in Bond (OT4)

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  kinkmeme fill from june 2011. what the what.   
> 

It's the way Chris rolls his eyes at him when he still catches himself knocking before entering the suite. The way he hands Eduardo a newly duplicated key that now rests beside his own in a keyring that he keeps in his pockets.

It's the way Dustin looks at him as if he doesn't understand what the big deal was when he hands Eduardo a stack of indexed notes on the Microecon topic that Eduardo missed the discussion on. The same look he gives Eduardo when Eduardo flashes him brilliant smile upon realising the fact that Dustin knew how he likes his coffee best.

It's the way Mark sits close to him when his back is curved and tensed - elbows digging into his knees. The way a palm would cup the back of his neck, soft and grounding, until the sound of his father's voice over the phone would mute itself in his head and all he would hear are their breaths and the clicks and clacks of Mark typing one handed.

It's the way there's a cup of warm soup in his cold hands, some pills on the table, and a blanket around his shoulders as he shivers violently. The way they refused to leave him in the suite and glared at him every time he tries to insist that they could go out.

The way he still finds himself huddled in the common room surrounded by them, echoes of a party they were planning to attend drowned out by the sound of explosions on the TV.

It's the way, many years and lawsuits and time-spent-not-talking later, they arrive at his doorstep—albeit separately (undoubtedly flying in from different places on different flights) less than 24 hours after Eduardo had sent each of them a single text that only had an address and an '- _E. S._ '.

The way 'I don't have a son', 'I've never had a son', and the tone of a call being dropped, silenced themselves in his mind when Dustin - and later, Chris - stumbles into his apartment.

The way he could let his eyes drift close, comforted by the voices of Chris and Dustin exchanging random stories on the floor whilst nursing their Singaporean beers.

The way they looked up and froze when the news anchor on the TV they've been ignoring mentions Mark's name and flashes a recorded video of Mark giving some speech a day ago in a conference in Europe.

The way they seem to relax when Eduardo laughed about how uncomfortable Mark looked in a suit.

The way Mark stumbles in two hours later, wearing a rumpled suit and carrying nothing but his passport and his wallet, looking ready to pass out on his feet.

The way Eduardo was the only one who seemed surprised that Mark actually came.

The way the three of them cuts Eduardo off when he tries to apologise after realising that Mark must've ditched a conference that even the douche from Google attended.

Cuts him off when he tries to apologise after noticing Chris's formal trousers and the discarded tie hanging down the door knob.

Cuts him off when he tries to apologise after noticing Dustin's white button down balled up with a coat, thrown at the corner after he had asked Eduardo for a T-shirt he could change into.

The way Dustin gives him _that_ look again. The way Chris says _shut the fuck up_ like he is annoyed that Eduardo is apologising. The way Mark shrugs at him from the corner of the sofa, eyes hooded and body curled into a loose ball, toes tucked under Eduardo's thighs.

It's the way he finds himself blinking up the ceiling probably hours later, faint sunlight filtering through the panes of glass of his apartment, surprised that he actually fell asleep at all.

The way he realises just how much he missed them.

How when he tries to sit up, a weight on his chest holds him down. How when he looks down curiously, he finds himself greeted by a tangle of curls he hasn't seen in person for years. How a small laugh escapes him when he feels the damp spot on his skin through his shirt - directly below Mark's parted lips.

How when he cranes his neck and looks to the side, he sees Chris snoring quietly into a throw pillow in a crimped button-down shirt with a pin that says _Yes We Can_. How he realises that they still sleep the same way they did back in college - with Dustin sprawled haphazardly, limbs spread apart and mouth wide open even after he's billed the youngest billionaire in the world.

It's the way he remembers Dustin saying "fuck him", face red with anger and righteousness, after he tells them about the phone call.

How Chris crawled towards him before giving him a drunken kiss on each cheek, whispering "you have us" next to his ear before crawling back to where Dustin is hogging a bowl of microwaved popcorn Eduardo didn't know he had.

How some hours before when it was still dark, Eduardo heard his name being whispered over and over - tiny puffs of breath fanning his face, trying to call him awake. How when he opened his eyes, Mark was hovering over him, focused and intense even through the fog of exhaustion that's clawing them back to sleep. How Mark had said in a quiet but firm voice: "you don't need him, Wardo. You never really did."

The way that the last thing he remembers before succumbing to sleep is a kiss on his jaw and a curve of a smile against his skin.

It's the way he is _Wardo_ again: stripped off the titles and the money and the aesthetic pleasures and miseries that came along with the lawsuits and the title of Co-founder.

 

**

 

There are other millions and billions of ways that had been done, millions and billions of ways that will be done. But above all those and because of all of those, the best thing that happened as a culmination of all the ways they had shown him how deeply rooted and permanently tangled they are to him — the summation of all the little things and gestures that survived years of no communication, of NDAs, lawyers, and public scrutiny -

It is the way that somehow, incredibly, Eduardo is finally learning to love himself.

To accept that he made mistakes and he will make more mistakes but that's alright.

To feel that he is worth something. That he can send a single text after years of radio silence and they would and they could and they _did_ fuck up their schedules, could/would/did cancel their appointments, and could/would/did leave a conference that had _the most powerful people in the business world_ in its panel, for _him_ just because he asked. Just because he is their friend even after he long stopped thinking of them as his.

To remember that he is _enough_. That he can and did survive on his own. That he can and did build himself a life from scratch in a country that spoke a different language and lived a different culture. That he can and did become successful without following the blueprint his father had set out for him.

To realise that he can do all of those on his own but that _he does not have to_.

Because there's Chris and there's Dustin and there's Mark and other people whom he had met in his stay on the in betweens.

That if he stumbles or falls, there will be Chris, Dustin, and Mark to pull him up and keep him on track and help him as much as he wants to help them, and keep them, and spare them from anything that would hurt them.

To feel, know, realise, and remember, until the purest, most intrinsic part is etched into his mind and mixed into his blood — that around these people, the same ones who built each other up and tore each other apart only to carefully piece each other together again, he is loved.


End file.
